John Wick - Chapter 74: What? Caine Is Your Second Uncle?? (Patreon)

The roar of the Ford Mustang echoed through the streets of New York.

John was driving fast. He had already left the taxis far behind, but a few motorcycles were still right on their tail.

“What a pain. How much do these guys even make a month? Is this really worth it?”

Nate sighed and leaned out with his gun.

One shot blew apart the head of the nearest rider.

The motorcycle immediately went out of control, carrying the body straight into a parked car at the side of the road.

Two more motorcycles were still chasing them.

Nate was getting impatient.

Bang! Bang!

He raised his gun and fired twice, hitting both riders. They crashed to the pavement along with their bikes.

At last, the world was quiet.

Nate put the safety on, tossed the gun aside, pulled the seat lever, and reclined all the way back.

He had barely aimed those last few shots, yet every one had landed.

That 50% increase in Firearm Proficiency seemed to have crossed some kind of threshold.

It gave him an almost instinctive certainty that as long as he pulled the trigger, he could hit his target without even taking proper aim.

What would you even call that?

Absolute gun sense?

His shooting was fine, but mentally, Nate seemed to be developing a problem.

He had already noticed it back at the factory.

On an instinctive level, he was starting to dislike killing.

Maybe he had simply hit his limit.

He hadn’t even been in the hitman world for a full week, yet nearly fifty people had already died by his hand.

John sat behind the wheel, occasionally shifting gears.

Judging by the faint upward curve at the corner of his mouth, he was in a pretty good mood.

Maybe he should ask John about it.

If anyone knew how to deal with this kind of thing, it would be him.

“John, do you ever get sick of killing people?”

John paused, then slowed the car.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s exactly how I feel right now, man!”

Nate covered his eyes with one hand, his expression starting to fall apart.

He had always thought he was tough enough not to have this kind of problem.

“Oh.”

Realization dawned on John.

“I forgot you’re still new to this.”

“Seriously, most veteran hitmen aren’t as capable or as professional as you are.”

“I guess I started treating you like another old hand without even realizing it.”

John glanced toward Nate, but Nate had reclined so far back that he couldn’t see him.

He turned his attention back to the road.

“How long have you been doing this again?”

“Four days? Maybe five?”

Nate counted on his fingers.

Too much had happened over the past few days. His memories were starting to blur together.

“How many people have you killed?”

“Never counted exactly. Around fifty, I think.”

“That many?”

John blurted it out before pausing.

“Then it makes sense.”

“Everyone has a limit to how much they can handle mentally. Once you go past that limit, you break.”

“In our line of work, you actually lasted a pretty long time before hitting your first wall.”

“First wall?”

Nate sat upright in surprise.

“You mean this can happen more than once?”

“Yeah.”

John nodded.

“You hit your limit, you break down, then you get through it. Next time, your tolerance is higher.”

“Eventually you hit another limit, break down again, get through that one too, and your tolerance rises again.”

“It keeps repeating until you finally go numb.”

“Most hitmen never even make it through the first time. Some reach their limit after killing just one person.”

Nate finally understood.

“So that’s why top-tier hitmen like you eventually want out of the High Table?”

John nodded.

“For most of them, yes. But not me.”

“I left because of Helen.”

“Doesn’t it bother you anymore?” Nate asked.

“...I went numb a long time ago.”

John spoke calmly after a brief silence.

But Nate could hear the weariness buried beneath those words.

The mood had gotten a little too heavy, so Nate changed the subject.

“What about Léon? Is he the same way?”

“He used to be.”

“But I haven’t seen him in years. Maybe he’s changed too. You saw the little girl with him.”

“That’s a good thing. He’s not alone anymore.”

“Once you’ve been in this business long enough, an ordinary life really does start looking like heaven.”

There was nostalgia in John’s eyes, and in his voice.

“Was Caine the same?”

“Yeah. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he has a daughter, so he got out.”

“Hm?”

John suddenly realized something was off.

“Wait. You know Caine?”

“Yeah. He’s my second uncle.”

“What?!”

John slammed on the brakes and pulled over.

Nate was thrown forward in his seat.

He raised the backrest again, sat upright, and spread his hands helplessly at John.

“That’s what he told me. I don’t even know whether it’s true.”

“We’ve only met a few times.”

“And after he told me he was my second uncle, I never saw him again.”

“No wonder.”

John suddenly looked like he understood.

“Wait. Forget that. If Caine’s your uncle, doesn’t that mean you should be calling me Uncle too?”

Nate immediately waved him off.

“Nice try, partner. You’re still just John to me.”

John knew exactly what he meant, so he let it go.

The two kept chatting as they drove.

By the time the car stopped outside the hotel, Nate checked the time.

It was almost 5:30.

They entered the hotel, and the gate opened automatically.

Charon wasn’t there. The same young receptionist was still behind the front desk.

Winston and Marcus were sitting on a sofa, talking about something.

Nate and John walked over and found somewhere to sit.

“What a long day.”

Still dressed in his tailored suit, Nate sprawled across the sofa without the slightest concern for appearances.

John and Marcus talked nearby, while Marcus occasionally glanced over at Nate.

“Indeed. You two did very well today. Go back to your rooms and get some proper rest.”

“But I suppose I should say something a little sentimental.”

The old man looked at them with a warm smile.

“Gentlemen, welcome home.”

Volume 2: Ready to Strike